Heroism is in the Heart
by endlesspath
Summary: Future AU. While reeling from tragedy, the last members of the Petrelli family are captured after two years on the run. Now they struggle to save the people they love and the world that never should have changed.
1. Chapter 1: On Halloween Night

Disclaimer: You know what; it's too much effort to think of a clever way to say, "I don't own Heroes."

Summary: Future AU. While reeling from tragedy, the last members of the Petrelli family are captured after two years on the run. Now they struggle to save the people they love and the world that never should have changed.

* * *

"'_People__ fear what they don't understand.' It's one of those sayings that only touch on the problem. People don't just fear what they don't understand; they reject it and try to find a solution so they can understand. But when they do, that's when the fear becomes something more… They see as us a lesser race because we're different. And that's just something they can't accept."_

---

The soft sound of rain tapping against the concrete streets filled the air, dulling the sound of distant traffic and all but masking the sound of footsteps they crossed the street. The rain was only light now; it would not be long until the drizzle became a heavy deluge that was sure to empty the streets of the last people who believed they could brave the overhanging storm for just a little while longer. Nowadays it didn't take much for people to seek the safety of their homes.

Peter Petrelli stepped onto the sidewalk and scowled up at the sky. The rain had plastered his hair down onto his head and occasionally a drop of water would manage to seep past the collar of his coat and trickle icily down his back. The fierce look in his brown eyes was normally enough to deter most people, even when his gaze wasn't directed at them. His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned away and continued his way down the streets.

Above his head, the murky clouds growled a warning and lightning flashed across the sky. The flash lasted only a heartbeat, but it was enough to send fresh guilt streaming unchecked through his body. He forced the guilt away; replacing it with another emotion he was far too familiar with, anger.

As he quickly closed the distance with the corner, the elegant buildings began to give way and reveal the glass and steel monstrosity surrounded by a field of green. The Omicron Pharmaceuticals headquarters was the greatest architectural accomplishment in modern memory. Its entire grounds were an ordered array of trees and flowers and fountains. It was a haven surrounded by buildings that paled in comparison.

Peter glared at the building and the few offices that were lit. Even at this time of night Omicron never seemed to stop.

He turned away from Omicron Pharmaceuticals and continued to walk. He had no destination. She had told him to walk, that he wasn't any use for now. She had told him to calm down. But how could he calm down when all he could think about was _her_.

Omicron wasn't the only building with lights on, nor did they shine the brightest. Peter looked at the shopping centre near the end the road, almost parallel to the Omicron building. The mall was often open late at night. It gave people a way to escape the constant worry of today's world.

Peter started towards the mall, content to just wonder around. People didn't know what he looked like, who he was. He was careful to keep out of the spotlight, especially when he had people who were relying on him. _Not that it mattered, I couldn't protect her._

One set of double doors slide open as Peter approached and stepped through. A rush of laughter and happy voices assaulted his ears as he made his way across the black and white tiled ground. He gazed at shop windows expressionlessly, his eyes seeing, but not registering the displays.

A group of bag-laden shoppers swarmed past him. Some sparing a glance at his grubby face, while the others ignoring him completely. Pity was seen in the eyes of some, while disparagement was in the eyes of others.

He paused outside an electronics store window, his eyes suddenly catching a picture of firefighters attempting to quell a fire gripping a mansion. They were making headway, but it was too little, too late, even with the help of the overhanging storm.

"_The sudden blaze sparked into life this evening when Federal Agents raided this Manhattan home, under the pretense that several 'special' people were residing there. The raid resulted in the wounding, and possible death of one special, while two others escaped when the sudden fire began to spread. The FBI and Omicron Agents who coordinated the raid are confident that the specials at large will be brought to justice soon, and urge the public to report any and all sightings."_

Peter glared at the television screen furiously. His fists clenched so tightly he could feel his fingernails digging sharply into his palms.

"Spooky, isn't it?"

Peter looked to his side sharply, and his eyes fell on a brunette woman, wrapped warmly in winter clothes and a coat. She glanced at him and smiled kindly. She was young; Peter thought early twenties at least.

"What's spooky?" Peter asked, looking back at the television screen and frowning slightly.

"All of that." The woman gestured at the television screen with a gloved hand "You know, with it being Halloween today and everything."

"It's Halloween?"

"Yeah." The woman smiled wider and a small giggle escaped from her mouth. Peter glanced back at her and watched as her expression of amusement suddenly disappeared and was replaced by one of shock and fear. "Oh, my…." she mumbled, staring back at Peter with a terrified glint in her eyes.

Peter looked back at the television screen and directly into the eyes of his picture, one from years ago. _"Peter Petrelli, the sole survivor of the Petrelli family, along with an unknown female escaped the scene, and…."_

He turned away from the television screen and the girl, closing his eyes and picturing a building inside his head. It came so easily know; he found it hard to believe that once he had trouble doing this. He heard a frightened gasp behind him, and then all there was, was silence.

Peter opened his eyes. He was standing at the top of a darkened staircase, exposed to the cold air and rain. The Reed Street Loft had been abandoned for over two years now, back when everything had gone from bad, to worse.

He crossed the concrete walkway and turned towards the door. All of the windows were closed and the curtains drawn, from the outside, it appeared as if it were still deserted.

Peter hesitated, his hand hovering over the door handle for a moment. Shallow light was flickering inside the loft; he could see it through the crack in the door. But there weren't any voices, why weren't there any voices? He felt a pain stab in his heart as he grabbed the door handle and pushed the door open.

His eyes fell on a woman sitting beside a bed near the end of the room. Candlelight flickered and reflected off of her golden blonde hair, casting a warm glow around the room. To Peter though, the atmosphere had never seemed more depressing.

"Claire?" He asked weakly as he stepped forward into the flickering light.

The blonde woman turned around in her chair, looking over her shoulder to stare at Peter with tear-filled eyes. "I am so sorry, Peter. I tried, I really did. My blood isn't healing her."

Peter stared at her blankly. It didn't work? How could it not work? Her blood could heal anything. _Anything._ He walked towards her; each step seemed to echo inside his head. Claire stood up from her chair and launched her self into his arms. He could hear her sobs and muffled apologies as she buried her face into his coat, heedless of its dampness.

Peter cupped the back of her head and held her close. His eyes wandered from Claire to the bed positioned haphazardly beside Claire's chair, or more specifically the woman tucked under the covers. When he had left, her face had been smeared with dried blood and cuts. The scrapes were gone, and so was the blood, but she was still asleep, still sick.

Peter released Claire and kneeled beside the bed, completely ignoring the chair. He reached out his hand and smoothed the woman's golden hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on her pale cheek.

"My blood healed her scrapes, but…." Claire fell silent. There was no need for words. Peter knew.

Peter felt tears prick his eyes as he reached down and held the woman's hands in his. He had never felt useless before, he had always been able to do something, anything to help people. He had saved New York from destruction; he had prevented the world from being ravaged by the Shanti Virus. But this time he couldn't do a thing. She was wasting away and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I'm sorry." He muttered as he brought her hand to his lips. "I am so, so sorry, Elle."

She wouldn't want this. She wouldn't want him lingering by her side. She wouldn't want him mourning her. He could even imagine her voice, her tone, taunting him in that childish way she had never been able to completely shake.

"Maybe we could… there's got to be someone who knows…." Claire said shakily. Her voice sounded dull in Peter's ears, her words barely registering in his head. He was numb, cold.

He felt Claire's hand on his shoulder. A small comfort, knowing he wasn't alone.

"We have to go, Peter." Claire said tenderly. "We can't stay here any longer. They'll find us."

"I know." Peter replied as he stood straight and released Elle's hand. He looked at Claire, with her puffy cheeks and eyes red-rimmed from crying. "We'll go to Suresh. We'll be safe there, for a little while."

"No, you won't be."

Peter whirled around to face the entrance to the room. A woman was standing inside the doorway, holding a gun pointed straight at his head. Peter felt all the grief immediately leave his body as his fists clenched in raw fury.

"We've been looking for the two of you for a long time. We would have caught you before if it weren't for _her_." The woman's head jerked upwards sharply as she gestured at Elle's unconscious body.

"You did this to her!" Peter said threateningly. The candlelight flickered, and a single flame flickered out of existence. "You came to _my_ house, Audrey. You attacked _us_! Do you really think I'm going to let this go?"

A smirk lifted the corners of Audrey's mouth. "You don't have a choice."

As soon as the words left her mouth, a cylinder-like canister flew over her head and hit the ground in a stream of dark smoke. Peter jerked backwards, coughing and choking into his wet sleeve as the smoke inevitably entered his nose and mouth. His eyes stung painfully and fresh tears began to stream down his cheeks as the smoke itched and ached. He heard a sharp scream, but he couldn't see who it came from.

He collapsed to the ground as something suddenly struck the backs of his knees, sweeping his feet from the ground. Shadowed people were swarming around the loft, heedless of the gas. Peter twisted slightly and pointed his open palm at the closest shadow. Nothing happened. His mind was clouded, he could barely think straight.

"Don't hurt them!" He heard Audrey call out. "We need them alive!"

Peter looked around wildly, searching for Claire, or Elle. he didn't know who. He just needed to know they were okay. "I'm sorry." He mumbled one more time as something hard struck his head. Pain roared in his head and he could hear the blood beating in his ears. He groaned once and fell, his eyes closing. He was tired, all he wanted to do was sleep.

His world went black.


	2. Chapter 2: Welcome Home, Pretty

"_It was hard to understand at first; why all of this had happened__, why it had to happen to us. It wasn't our fault, we didn't ask for this. Why should we suffer because of other peoples actions? Inevitably though, I realised that it had to fall to us, because no one else was there to carry that weight."_

---

Claire stared around the armoured convoy for what seemed like the hundredth time already that night. Two men carrying high-powered rifles were sitting on either side of her, occasionally sneaking glances at her, sometimes not even sneaking. Audrey Hanson was sitting on the opposite side of the convoy. She hadn't even bothered to look up at her the entire trip.

Claire jerked her wrists slightly, rattling the pair of handcuffs tightened cruelly around her wrists. The guards weren't concerned with her wellbeing. As long as she was breathing, that was good enough for them.

"Want me to loosen them for you?" Audrey asked suddenly, glancing up at her.

"No. But you can tighten them if you want. Butch over there needs to start hitting the gym."

Claire grunted as the guard on her left suddenly lashed out with his elbow, catching Claire just above her eyebrow.

"Enough!" Audrey ordered the guard sharply. A faint smile appeared on her face as she regarded Claire thoughtfully. "I'd watch that tongue of yours. Not everyone here reacts as kindly as 'Butch' did."

Claire felt Butch shift in his seat. She ignored him and stared at Audrey. "Where's Peter?"

"Where do you think?" Audrey replied, tilting an eyebrow curiously. "Where do all the people like you go?"

"Omicron," Claire breathed.

Audrey nodded once. "Bingo, Claire. Though I wouldn't worry about him, I'd be worrying about myself. We don't know what you can do. At least, not yet."

"You don't know what I can do? You've been chasing us for two years, and you still don't know?"

"Oh, I have an idea. Remember Homecoming?" Audrey smirked. "Of course you do. Your blood was everywhere, but you didn't have a scratch on you. If I'm right about you, then our scientists will have all the time in the world to confirm what you can do."

Claire couldn't hold back the involuntary shiver that snaked down her spine as soon as the words left Audrey's mouth. One of the guards next to her sniggered, and Claire glared at him. She wasn't the same person she was back then.

She looked back at Audrey as the truck slowed and came to a halt. The other woman grinned at her and stood, moving towards the rear of the truck. The two guards remained where they were, though Claire felt them straighten and clutch their weapons tighter.

The rear doors to the truck opened and light suddenly blossomed through, causing Claire to squint and attempt to cover her eyes with her shoulder. When did it become day?

"Another one?" A new voice sounded from outside. It sounded dirty, sickening. Claire hoped it wasn't a hint of the man behind it.

"Another three," Audrey replied as she stepped out of the truck. "The others are in the third truck down. Sedated."

"Three? Come on, Hanson. We don't have the space for three. We don't even have enough room for one!"

"Well, work something out!" Audrey told him. "That's your job, right, Doyle?"

Doyle grunted in confirmation, but Claire could tell by his tone that he wasn't at all pleased. "Alright then," Doyle said, louder now, an order directed at the guards. "Bring that one out. Let's get a look at her."

Claire winced as one of the guards – Butch; she thought – grabbed her painfully by her armpit and hauled her to her feet. His fingers dug into her flesh cruelly tight as he pulled her towards the open doors and tossed her roughly outside.

A single gasp escaped Claire's lips as she struck the ground. Pain blossomed through her body as she landed heavily on her stomach.

"What did I tell you?" Claire heard Audrey shout angrily. "They are to be delivered safely! All of them!"

Claire groaned and rolled slightly, turning her head to stare up at the back of the truck. The guard who had tossed her had climbed down and was facing Audrey with a furious scowl on his face. The other guard was standing just inside the truck, watching the two expressionlessly.

"Why? That bitch is not like us!" Butch said angrily, waving his finger vehemently at Claire. "Why do you care what happens to her?"

"I don't." Audrey replied. Claire noticed the other woman's hand slide around her waist, as though gripping a gun.

"Then you won't care if I decide to lessen the load a bit." Butch directed his furious gaze at Claire and pointed his rifle at her head.

In an instant, Audrey's gun was out of its holster and trained on Butch's own head. "You do that, and I swear to God, I'll put a bullet between your eyes, right now!"

"You don't have the guts." Butch sneered. "You wouldn't kill me to save one of _them_." He spat the word out as though it pained him. He pushed his rifle forward until the barrel was pressing against Claire's head.

Audrey's gun clicked. "Go ahead. Try it. I dare you!"

"Enough!" Doyle said, stepping between the two and raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "We're all on the same team here." His voice sounded slick, amused. It made Claire's stomach churn uncomfortably.

Doyle turned and regarded Butch thoughtfully. "Put the gun down."

Butch's face contorted in a grimace and his gun lowered until it was pointing against the ground. Claire couldn't hold back the relieved sigh that escaped from her mouth. She hadn't even realised she was holding her breath.

"Good." Doyle said, clapping his hands once and rubbing them together. He turned and Claire met his eyes. If her stomach was churning before, she couldn't describe what it was doing now. "Now you're a pretty one, aren't you?" He told her with a silken grin on his face.

Claire clenched her fists as she raised herself to her knees. "Screw you!" she hissed through her teeth.

"And she's still got some spirit, at least. This is going to be fun."

"I don't want to hear about any of your games, Doyle." Audrey interrupted. "I don't want another Meredith Gordon on our hands."

Claire's heart leapt as soon as her biological mother's name left Audrey's mouth. The sudden excitement was quickly washed away by the meaning behind Audrey's words. What had Doyle done to her?

"Don't fret, Hanson. I won't push our guest too far."

"I hope not."

"Alright," Doyle clapped his hands again. "Put this one here in with Des, he doesn't have much longer anyway. And as for the other two…?" he looked at Audrey, waiting for her to give orders.

"I want Petrelli in an interrogation room as soon as he wakes. Take the other girl to research and—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Doyle said quickly. "Petrelli? As in Peter Petrelli?" When Audrey nodded, Doyle threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "You actually caught Peter Petrelli?!"

"Yeah, just shout it from the rooftops, Doyle." Audrey said sarcastically. "That's the way we do things here."

Doyle turned at glared at her. The flash of anger lasted only a moment as he turned his attention back to Claire. "Well, well, stand up, pretty. Let's go see your new home."

* * *

Whatever orders Audrey had given the people at Omicron to leave Claire alone, they weren't following them. Audrey had left straight away to supervise the Omicron Agent's as they moved Peter to an interrogation room, leaving Claire in the hands of Doyle and the other guards. Claire didn't know what happened to Elle, but she really couldn't say that the issue was on her mind. Audrey was right; Claire was saving all of her worry for herself.

The guards had all but dragged her into a stone grey building. The trucks had brought them out of New York City, they weren't anywhere near the main Omicron building. Claire didn't know where they were.

She was leered at lustfully as she was forced to strip and change into a set of baggy, grey, and not to mention itchy clothes in full view of the guards. After which she was led through level after level of room filled corridors before finally coming to a halt outside a barred door. The only difference between this door and all the rest was the red painted number _308_ in the centre of the door.

Claire suppressed a shudder when felt Doyle's hand touch the small of her back as he unlocked the door and pushed her forward. She didn't pull away, or swear at him again. She had done it just before she was forced to strip, and the guards were a lot less gentle now that Audrey was gone.

"What? No balloons?" Claire smirked as the door opened, revealing the stark cell beyond. At least after all these years she had learned how to put on a brave face.

Doyle smirked at her. "I wonder if you'll still have that mouth on you after a week in here, hmm. But I suppose you'll have more reason to be happy than your friend, 'the great Petrelli.' He doesn't even get a blanket to tuck himself in at night."

Claire glared at him as the light touch against her back suddenly turned into a shove. She stumbled forward, barely catching her balance in time to prevent landing face-first on the concrete floor.

"Have a nice night, pretty. I'll be back to see you tomorrow." Doyle laughed as he slammed the door shut. Claire heard the lock click and Doyle's footsteps fade away down the hall.

Claire breathed out and pressed her fist against her forehead, fighting back a fresh batch of tears.

"Are you okay?"

Claire whirled around, the entire cell flashing in front of her eyes before her vision landed on a tall and lanky boy sitting on the top of a set of bunk beds pushed against the wall by the window. His head was shaved and pale, and thin strips of wire dug into his scalp.

"Who… who are you?" Claire asked, taking a step back as the boy lowered himself from the top bunk and landed neatly on the ground with a soft thud.

"I'm Desmond." The boy said cheerfully, holding out his hand for Claire. When she didn't respond, he shrugged and let his arm fall to his side. "You can call me Des if you want, everyone does. What's your name?"

"…Claire." Claire responded. This boy was happy, cheerful. Why was he cheerful when he was wearing those itchy clothes and had wires snaking through his head?

"Hi, Claire. You can have top bunk if you want. I've never had a roommate before, so I don't know."

"I'm fine." Claire said.

"Okay, then. I hope they give us food soon. They forgot about breakfast this morning." Desmond said as he jumped back onto the top bunk and lay down.

Claire walked towards the bottom bunk and sat down, holding her head in her hands. Desmond's steady stream of chatter barely registered with her. She was tired; she hadn't slept since the night before – before they were attacked. It had all been a rush of adrenaline for too long, and Claire was sick of it.

She didn't look up when Desmond dropped back down from the top bunk, but she could feel his gaze on her. She could even picture his expression. She didn't want his pity; she didn't want to be here, with the guards and their open, lascivious sneers, and Doyle with his beady little eyes. She hoped that Peter was okay; she hoped that Elle was still alive.

A single tear trickled down her cheek.


	3. Chapter 3: Cellmates

"_They told me she just showed up on the doorstep one day, tears in her eyes and bags hanging off her shoulders. She asked if she could stay because she had nowhere else to go. I've heard people call it the beginning, but thinking back, I'm not so sure. To me it seemed more like the end."_

---

"_We should do something."_

_Peter__ turned his head, taking in the beautiful blonde as she plopped herself down on the couch beside him; her ponytail whipped around as she bounced slightly, coming to rest on her shoulder. _

_"Like what, Elle?" he asked._

"_I dunno." Elle shrugged, the smile remained on her face however. "Let's just do something fun! I mean, come on, babe, you know I love that brooding look you get, it makes me melt. But you can't worry all the time. I miss your wonky smile."_

"_Wonky__?" Peter raised his eyebrow, amused by Elle's playful banter._

"_Oh, don't worry, it's hot.__ See! There it is; I knew you had it in you, Petey!"_

_Peter couldn't prevent the grin that swept across his face. This was a game they played sometimes, and Elle always won. "We could watch something. I'm pretty sure some of the older movies are still upstairs."_

_A series of swift knocks echoed from the front door, and Peter's head whipped around as he jumped to his feet. A blue ball of electricity reflexively appeared in his hand._

_He heard Elle giggle as she followed him up and cup his face in her hand. "That must be the pizza I ordered." Elle suddenly frowned as she stared at him, her blue eyes, filled with laughter before suddenly becoming hard. It was as though she was seeing him for the first time. "You're not meant to be here. You can't be here!_

"_WAKE UP!"_

* * *

Peter jerked awake, bright, artificial light stinging his eyes as he blinked and began twisting and straining. He was sitting upright in a freezing cold chair; both wrists were handcuffed to the chair's armrests. He reached for his powers, desperate to find something, anything that would help him escape.

"Trying to use your abilities, Peter?" He heard a woman say. He had heard that voice before, he just couldn't place it. His head was pounding. He couldn't think clearly, it was all a mess of worry and anger, both completely dominated by pain.

"What's happening?" he mumbled, squinting blearily into the light. "Where's Claire, where's Elle?"

"You don't remember?"

A face appeared behind the light; a fuzzy, unclear picture. Peter swallowed, he felt like he was going to be sick. "Remember what?"

"It's the gas. It knocks you right out, but waking up the next morning feels like you've just drunk your way through your liver. The feeling will pass soon. But it will be a while before you can use your abilities again. It's a small precaution. You're too dangerous."

"Where are they?" Peter repeated. _Gas?_ That was something new. "What did you do with them?"

"Not yet." It was Audrey speaking, Peter recognised the voice now. "You mentioned Suresh, back at the loft. You said that you'd be safe with him for a little while. Tell me where he is, and I'll let Claire go."

Peter narrowed his eyes, focusing directly on the face. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the light. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He wasn't ready for the punch which nearly shattered his jaw. Peter clenched his teeth as his head snapped back. A dull ringing began to pulse in his ears.

"You're only making things worse for yourself, Peter." Audrey told him. "Tell me what I want to know."

"I don't know where Mohinder is." A second punch struck the other side of his jaw. Peter gasped and squeezed his hands into fists. He heard a soft chuckle from somewhere behind him.

Audrey audibly sighed and her voice filled the room. "You know what's going to happen to your niece? In the morning, she is going to be dragged from her cell and taken to a research cell. Our scientists are going to test her until they conclusively confirm her ability. And I think you know what that entails."

"If you even touch her, I swear—"

"She is going to be tested, experimented on, because of her ability. She _can't_ die. She's Omicron's gold mine. Now you can put a stop to that before it even happens. All you need to do is tell me where your friends are hiding."

Peter looked up, the light suddenly seeming insignificant, "My friends?" he asked. "Mohinder isn't my _friend_."

"Then tell me where he is!"

"I'm telling you the truth. I don't know. _He_ finds _you_."

"But you have a way to get in touch with him. He has to find you somewhere, somehow…." Audrey drifted into silence. Peter could only imagine the thoughts streaming through her head; connections being made, lines being drawn. "…He has Molly Walker, doesn't he?"

Peter straightened in the chair, and a hand suddenly pressed down on his shoulder.

"He does." Audrey continued thoughtfully, almost as though she were talking to herself. "It's the only way he's evaded capture. You know where he's hiding, just not a specific location. He watches you and if you're alone he comes." Her voice suddenly lost its thoughtful tones and became harsher, authoritative. "You go somewhere, to a location he watches through Molly Walker. Where is it?"

Peter glared at her. "If I tell you, you promise to let Claire go? Unharmed?"

"If I'm satisfied that you're telling me everything, she'll be set free."

Peter hesitated. Audrey was staring at him, and he didn't need his abilities to know what she was thinking, or feel the excitement that was definitely coursing through her body. "The subway lines under Manhattan. Last time I saw him, he found me there."

"You don't know if he's there now?" There was something else in Audrey's tone now. Suspicion, doubt; she didn't believe him.

"No, but—"

"That's not good enough, Peter." Audrey said. Peter heard her chair scrap against the ground as she stood and walked over to him. The hand on his shoulder pressed down harder, digging into his flesh. "Unless you can tell me beyond a shadow of a doubt where he is, Claire's staying right where she is, and so are you. Just tell me, Peter. I don't want to do this to Claire, but I will, unless you give me what I want. Mohinder Suresh, Matt Parkman, Daphne Millbrook, Hiro Nakamura. Just tell me where any of them are, I don't care who, and I'll make sure Claire is set free before sundown."

"Mohinder is hiding in the subways. I don't know where the others are. I haven't seen them in two years!"

"I'm sorry, Peter." Audrey said. "But I can't help you. Maybe you'll hear Claire's screams from your cell. If you suddenly just seem to think of something when you hear them, tell the guard to contact me."

"No, wait!" Peter shouted furiously. "I told you where Suresh was!"

"And for all I know, we'll be walking right into a trap as soon as we get there." Audrey paused as she reached the door leading out of the room. She turned her head and addressed the guard standing with his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Take him to his cell and give him another dose. I don't want him even thinking about his powers."

"If anything happens to her, I'll kill you!" Peter said threateningly. "If anything happens to either of them, I'll tear this place apart!"

"If your tongue doesn't start loosening, you'll never see your niece or your girlfriend again."

The door opened and a several guards came through, holding guns and batons. They seemed an unexpected twitch away from killing him then and there.

"Put him in with the other one." Audrey commanded the guards. She then glanced at Peter, staring at him with hard eyes. "I hope you're more cooperative tomorrow. The man in charge of Claire, Doyle, isn't known for his kindness. I don't want to read another report describing the things he did to her before she dies. But she can't die, can she? You can put a stop to everything, Peter, before it even begins."

Peter glared at her. "If she or Elle are even touched, I'll kill you! I'll kill that Doyle! I'll make you pay!"

A flash of guilt appeared on Audrey's face, it was gone so fast; Peter thought he may have imagined it. "Take him to his cell."

* * *

It was freezing. That was the first sensation that flooded through Peter's body as he wrapped his arms around his body and tried to prevent his teeth from chattering. They had made him change into a thin grey shirt and pants, and then stuck a needle in his neck, his body had lost all of its warmth after that injection. Peter was surprised his breath wasn't coming out in a plume of white.

A harsh-looking guard with a long, hideous scar across his face pulled open a door and gave Peter a furious stare as Peter's cuffs were unlocked and removed. Peter used the opportunity to look around the icy corridors. He could only see a few iron doors, each one both locked and bolted tight.

Peter stiffened slightly as one of the guards poked his rifle into the middle of Peter's back, motioning him forward through the door. Two of the guards followed him through. Peter could almost feel the barrel of one of the rifles training on his head.

He looked around the cell as he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. Two beds were pushed against either wall. They barely deserved to be called beds; they were just slabs of concrete. A single toilet was against the back wall, but Peter wasn't focused on the beds, or the toilet placed out in full view. He was staring at the man who had turned his head to watch as the cell door opened.

The man's eyes widened in recognition, and Peter could feel his own eyes widening in surprise. "You!" the man hissed; leaping up from the ball he was curled in on one of the beds and striding across the cell to face Peter. Behind him, Peter heard the guard's rifles click threateningly.

Peter forgot the cold and the guards behind him as he drew back his fist and struck the man as hard as he could in the jaw. "Sylar!" he shouted furiously. "You bastard!"

Sylar recoiled slightly as Peter's fist struck home, but that only lasted an instant as he sprang back and returned Peter's strike with a punch of his own, hitting Peter's already bruised mouth.

Peter gasped as pain rocketed through his jaw, and then launched himself at Sylar, tackling him to the ground and drawing back his arm to punch again.

All of a sudden Sylar's knee came up, battering Peter's hip and knocking him over. Peter felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and launch him back, causing him to collide painfully with the concrete bed.

"Enough!" the guard with the scar bellowed furiously. "As much as I love to see two girls fighting, management doesn't want you two killing each other. So unless you can keep your hands to yourselves, I'll come in and work both of you over until you do. Understand!?"

Peter glanced at the guard and then back at Sylar. The other prisoner was rubbing his mouth and shooting venomous glances in Peter's direction.

The guard nodded once and jerked his head. The two guards who had broken up Peter and Sylar's scuffle straightened and walked out of the cell.

"Now you two, play nice. I'll be watching" The scar-faced guard said as he too turned and walked out of the cell. The door slammed shut behind him and the lights turned off, leaving Peter in the darkness. A gentle, almost peaceful hum began whirling, and was quickly followed by a steady stream of cold air.

Peter wrapped his arms around himself once more and sat down heavily on the concrete bed. The stone was freezing. Adrenaline was still pulsing through his body, but it was quickly being smothered by the cold.

"I was wondering when they would capture you." Sylar's voice echoed from the other side of the cell. "I knew it was only a matter of time."

"Shut up." Peter responded as he lay down and faced the wall.

"Now what happened to sweet Claire? Or pretty Elle, I wonder." Sylar continued as though Peter had never spoken. "If they were captured with you, they'll be even worse off than us. The guards hate us 'specials'. And that sick bastard Doyle loves his fun."

"I said 'shut up'!" Peter said, louder this time.

"You know what's going to happen to her, don't you? I'm sure one of the guards would have told you."

"SHUT UP!" Peter shouted furiously.

"Yell at me all you want. It's not going to change anything. She's going to suffer, and you're going to live with that knowledge for the rest of your life!" Sylar laughed.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore Sylar's maniacal laughter. He would have covered his ears if his hands weren't busy retaining whatever warmth he had left in his body.

Sylar's laughter echoed around the cell for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4: Testing Time

"_When Omicron came, we all thought it was just a pharmaceutical company. They rose throughout the world quickly, with revolutionary technology and scientific breakthroughs; we didn't even consider the possibility that there was something wrong with the way they created their products. We lived our lives, while they steadily grew. We thought we were safe in our not-so-little world of special abilities, but after a while we realised our world wasn't only _our_ world anymore."_

---

Claire woke up the next morning with an empty and rumbling stomach; she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. The last few days had been a blur of action and rampant emotion, but it was quiet here. If she wasn't so horribly aware of where she was, she supposed that she would feel content, even safe.

The bunk above her creaked uncertainly as Desmond moved around. The boy had talked and talked and talked. Claire had a feeling that he would have talked to himself even if she wasn't there.

"Claire, you awake?" Desmond's voice drifted down, full of curiosity and eagerness.

"…Yeah." Claire whispered back.

"How old are you?"

Claire felt her eyebrows rise in surprise. Out of everything he could have asked, he wanted to know how old she was. Age had lost all meaning for Claire, ever since she had learnt that she would remain the way she was until the day someone decided to put a bullet in her brain. If she was asking him, she would have asked what his ability was, or what was that thing digging into his head. "I'm twenty-one." She replied after a moment. "Why? How old are you?"

"Nineteen," Desmond replied. "…I think. I've been here for a long time, I'm not even sure anymore."

Claire propped herself up with her elbows and poked her head out from between the bunk-beds. "How long do you think you've been here?"

"Um…" Desmond's voice wavered uncertainly. "I remember I was brought here a week after my birthday, so… I think about seven years, maybe."

"Seven years?" Claire exclaimed disbelievingly. Desmond had to be wrong, he _had_ to. "It can't have been. Omicron has only been around for about half that!"

"I told you, I wasn't sure." Desmond responded defensively. "It's been so long."

Silence fell between the two. It was too uncomfortable for Claire's taste. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Desmond said softly. "I think it's better here anyway. I hear the guards talk sometimes. They say that people like us are dying, and that it's only a matter of time until we're all gone."

Claire nodded slightly before realising that Desmond couldn't see here. It was true, every word. "You said 'people like us.'" She said. "What can you do, Des?"

The top bunk creaked again as Desmond poked his head out from over the top, looking down at Claire. The metal rods digging into his scalp gleamed in the artificial light. "I used to be able to think about moving things, and they would. They call it telekinesis, but I don't know." Desmond answered eagerly. "But I haven't been able to do it since they put these things in my head."

"Have you tried pulling them out?"

"They told me that I would… die if I tried to." Desmond replied. Claire noticed a flash of fear streak across his face as he spoke. "I don't want to die, Claire."

"No, I suppose not…."

"You _suppose_ not?" Desmond sounded confused. "You sound like you want to."

Claire shook her head vehemently, "No, of course not! It's just…." She fell silent, meeting Desmond's openly honest gaze coolly. He wouldn't understand; few people did. Some used to covet her ability, now the only thing Claire saw in those same eyes was pity.

"You're strange." Desmond smiled down at her.

Claire let out a bark of amused laughter. Desmond was probably exactly the same as he was seven years ago, blunt, childlike, uninhibited. His isolation from the rest of the world hadn't allowed him to mature as he should have. It was so sad, so pathetic. It wasn't funny, but Claire couldn't help but laugh.

She suddenly clamped her mouth shut and whirled around on her bunk as the sound of metal sliding against metal echoed briefly through the cell. She glared at the door as one of the guards who had brought her in the previous night peered through the now open metal grate before nodding in satisfaction.

Claire had to resist the temptation – the urge – to back up against the wall as the cell's door was unlocked and pushed open, revealing a pair of guards and even worse, Doyle, standing there. The guards were serious, their mouths clamped shut and their hands tightened around their weapons. Claire wasn't even remotely afraid of them; it was the excited and anticipating grin that decorated Doyle's face which made her want to curl up in a protective ball. Just the thought of his eyes on her was enough to cause shivers of disgust to snake through her body.

"Well, well, well." Doyle announced as he stepped into the cell. "Getting to know each other, are we? Having fun?"

Claire didn't reply, and the sudden stillness from the top bunk told her that Desmond was equally as afraid as she was.

Doyle's smile only seemed to widen at their silence. "Now, now, don't be shy, we're all friends here." At their continued silence, Doyle's mouth drooped slightly in disappointment and his eyes focused on Claire wickedly. "You should be excited most of all, Pretty. It's testing time!"

Claire involuntarily shivered. This was why no one envied her ability anymore. Claire didn't know her limits, but everyone knew that when she was captured, others would find those thresholds and push past them.

She tried to back away as the two guards who accompanied Doyle advanced on her, but she couldn't move, she was rooted to the spot, whether by fear or something else Claire didn't know. She wanted to struggle, cry out, but her body refused to obey her commands. Unwanted tears began to form in her eyes as the guards hauled her out from her bunk and pulled her roughly towards the cell door, her body was moving on its own accord, heedless to what she wanted to do.

Somehow Claire managed to move her head and look back at Desmond. He was staring at her with that very look in his eyes she hated: pity. He knew what was going to happen to her and it terrified him.

Her head suddenly whipped back around of its own accord and her eyes met Doyle's. The amused glint in his eye had only seemed to grow. Claire felt his hand touch her chin lightly and her head moved from side-to-side.

"Not even a bruise." Doyle said thoughtfully, his grin being replaced by a reflective expression. "I heard that you were hit more times than I have fingers, but you don't even have a scratch." Doyle looked at her knowingly. "Why is that, I wonder?"

Claire stiffened as soon as Doyle's finger touched her chin and glared at him furiously. Doyle's grin returned and he gestured with his hand. "You ready, Pretty?" he asked mockingly.

"Screw you!" Claire spat heatedly.

Doyle leaned in and brushed his fingers across Claire's jaw. "Keep that fight in you for as long as you can, Pretty. It'll be all the more satisfying when I break you down."

The guards began moving, tightening their grips on Claire's arms as they walked. They needn't have bothered, no matter how much Claire fought it, her legs just moved on their own. Behind her, she could hear Doyle say a scathing comment to Desmond as he locked the cell behind him.

"What's going to happen to me?" Claire asked as soon as she felt Doyle falling into step behind her and the guards.

"Use your imagination." Doyle replied pleasantly. "I'd rather not spoil the surprise."

Claire repressed a second shiver and tried to retake control of her body, but no matter what she did, she couldn't control her actions. _What's going on?_ She thought numbly. _Is it Doyle?_ She tried to look over her shoulder, but her head remained rooted in place.

"What's wrong, Pretty?" She heard Doyle ask in that disgusting, _knowing_, tone of his.

She didn't reply, instead focusing on the corridors in front of her as the group walked. They hadn't come through this way when she was brought here. Left turn, right turn, straight ahead; it didn't take long for Claire to completely lose her sense of direction. She tried to focus on something, anything that would help her drown out the faint screams that slowly grew louder and louder in her ears.

They eventually came to a stop in front of a pair of steel doors. Claire stiffened as Doyle brushed passed her and pressed his eye against a retina scanner attached to one of the doors. He remained still for a moment until the device let out a sharp confirming _beep_.

Doyle straightened and gestured with his hand. Claire's body moved again of its own accord. She glared at Doyle's pleased smile as she was led into the gleaming room through the doors.

The first thing Claire noticed was the distinct absence of colour, a trait shared with the rest of the prison. Glassy silvers and metals reflected by the luminous lights jumped out her as she peered around. Several doors were placed at regular intervals around the area, each with a sickening glow emerging from the crack between the door and the ground. Ventilation grates were placed frequently across the roof, Claire could almost picture the shafts that connected them, hidden by the steel ceiling panels.

Scientists and doctors barely paused in their work to look at her and the guards as they walked by. Claire didn't know if guards bringing in prisoners were natural occurrences in their work, or whether they simply just didn't care. Claire suspected the former.

Claire heard a monitor beep on her left and she turned her head to look towards the source of the sound. A scientist was leaning over a steel table, exactly the same type as all the other ones spread out across the room. Claire's eyes widened in horror as the scientist moved away revealing the woman lying flat across the table. "Elle?" Claire breathed. Elle's skin was pale, death like. Claire would have been sure that the other girl was dead if it wasn't for the heart monitor that beeped sporadically above Elle's head. Tubes and wires threaded in and out of Elle's body, each one linking with a series of monitors displaying tallies and numbers that Claire couldn't understand.

She hadn't even thought about what had happened to Elle after they were captured, she remembered Audrey saying that Elle was to be brought to research, but after that… nothing.

"Worried about your friend?" Doyle asked mockingly. "I wouldn't be; she's probably the safest person here. Well, at least until she wakes up, then I make no promises." He laughed as if he had just told a great joke.

Claire looked at him sharply, but didn't say a word. Her mind was in turmoil. She tried to struggle, move her limbs, scream; bite. But her body remained perfectly still; she couldn't even open her mouth anymore.

Abruptly, they were on the move again, making their way towards one of the doors with the sickly neon light. Doyle rapped his knuckles on the door and grinned down at Claire. "Now I expect you to be a good girl while your in there. I don't want to hear that you've been…_difficult_ in any way."

The door opened and Doyle winked, tapping Claire's bottom as he pushed her through the door, and into the testing room within. And then all thoughts and feelings of anger were replaced by fear.

* * *

Claire couldn't stop trembling as a single guard pushed her roughly back into her darkened cell and slammed the door behind her. The testing had gone on for hours, just little things at first, blood tests, body scans, nothing invasive. It didn't take long for the scientist to confirm her ability. He had been overjoyed, excited, and that was when things had escalated.

The pain was gone, but Claire remembered all too well.

She rubbed her eyes and walked shakily towards her bunk, her whole body was exhausted; she could barely summon the energy to put one foot in front of the other. Her stomach groaned with hunger, but she was far too nauseous to eat, even if there _was_ a scrap of food inside the cell.

A metallic _clang_ sounded from above her, causing her to jerk slightly in surprise. She looked up and tilted her head, all thoughts of the testing suddenly vanishing from her mind. "Desmond?" she asked softly. She hadn't heard her cellmate move, he hadn't made a sound.

"Des?" Claire repeated as she stood up and peeked over the top bunk.

Desmond wasn't there.

Claire frowned as another sound echoed from above her. She grunted slightly as she pulled herself up onto the top bunk, ignoring the sharp protests from her drained limbs. Her breath came in sharp pants as she rose to her knees and scanned the cell from her new vantage point.

She blinked back reflexive tears as her head suddenly collided with something hard. _Come on, Claire!_ She thought savagely. _You've had harder hits than this!_ She patted her head tenderly, feeling the small gash created by the collision close over and heal within seconds.

She turned her head cautiously and lifted her hand. Her fingers brushed metal and Claire frowned. _A ventilation duct?_ She thought in surprise. She hadn't even realised that there had been a duct attached to the wall, she had been so consumed she hadn't bothered to look around. _No wonder Desmond sleeps up here._

She raised herself higher and peered through the opening in the wall. The grate was swinging open; the soft stream of air flowing through the duct was causing it to collide with the concrete wall.

Mustering the little strength that remained in her body, Claire smiled and pulled herself into the duct.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait, this chapter was long overdue. School caught up with me for the last time. I just graduated high-school – insert WOOT here – and finished my last couple of NCEA assignments. So I'm basically free until University late February. And now I'm rambling, so on with the story. Oh, and a big thank you to all of my reviewers!


	5. Chapter 5: The Vents, Part One

"_Maybe it was a sign of how little Omicron actually cared about people like us, or maybe they were just so confident in their domination that they forget we can still think. It's true, without our powers we're helpless. But we are still human, no matter what anyone says. They forget we can plot, we can scheme. Omicron is not a prison. There are no trials, no paroles, and no rehabilitation. Once they lock us away, they will never set us free. They forget. They forget one basic rule about humanity that they never should have forgotten. By taking away our hope, our freedom, we all begin to realise that we have nothing to lose anymore, and the moment that happens, they'll see just how dangerous we can truly be."_

---

Claire covered her nose with the edge of her sleeve as wandering dust particles tickled her nostrils. The last thing she wanted was to make too much noise, and she was sure that a sneeze would echo a lot louder inside the ventilation network than the grate clanging against the opening would.

She slid her free hand further down the vent, trying her hardest to ignore the cold that seeped into her fingers. It was pitch black; she couldn't even see her hand in front of her face.

She inched forward on her hands and knees, her hair brushed against the top of the duct and her shoulders bumped against the sides. It was a tight fit; she was surprised that Desmond could make it through.

A faint whirling sound drifted through the vent, causing a soft hum to echo through Claire's ears. The sound only grew louder and more insistent as Claire made her way further down the vent. A steady stream of cold air whipped Claire's hair around her face. She smiled softly and closed her eyes. It was pleasant. It seemed like so long ago since she had felt a breeze, since she had felt anything but pain for that matter.

Claire opened her eyes as the sound of carefree laughter reached her from down the vent. It was faint, disguised by the whirling hum, but it was unmistakable. It seemed so out of place here. It wasn't sardonic, it wasn't bitter, it was cheerful. Happy.

She moved faster and the hum began to grow fainter again in her ears. A dim light emerged ahead of her in the blackness and more laughter sounded from outside the opening in the vent. When was the last time she heard laughter like that?

The laughter abruptly cut off as Claire reached the end of the vent. She had been sure she was being quiet, she had been careful in that regard. She stopped and craned her neck as she peered out through the opening and into the new room. The familiar white walls and floor leapt out in Claire's vision, despite the darkness flooding the room. It was another cell, Claire realised numbly. Disappointment filled her body, she had been hoping for anything, just not another bland cell like hers.

She crept forward until she could see the entire cell in all its insipid glory. A set of bunk beds, exactly the same as the pair in her cell were bolted against the opposite wall, however the bedding looked as though it had been torn apart by something. Strips of cloth were scattered over the floor. Claire breathed a sigh of relief when her eyes fell on Desmond, bending down on his hands and knees and peering under the bottom bunk.

"Des?" Claire asked as she moved forward and dropped awkwardly out of the vent and into the cell.

Desmond whirled around; the sudden surprise that filled his features quickly vanished at the sight of Claire. "Oh, it's just you." He said, turning back to look under the bunk. Claire thought she could hear him cooing reassurances, but it was so soft, she couldn't tell.

"What are you doing here?" Claire asked him as she walked closer.

"Visiting my friend." Desmond replied; he didn't even seem fazed by Claire's appearance. "You scared her, now she won't come out."

"I scared her?" Claire tilted her head and paused beside Desmond.

"She heard you coming. She doesn't like strangers. Strangers scare her." Desmond didn't look up from under the bunk. He _was_ whispering reassurances, Claire realised.

Claire lowered herself to her hands and knees and glanced at Desmond. "What's her name?"

"I don't know." Desmond replied simply. "She doesn't talk, the scientists did it to her, I think. I call her Cat.

"Cat?" Claire said sceptically. Something – someone – under the bunk stirred.

"She won't hurt you." Desmond said reassuringly. Claire didn't know if he was talking to her, or the girl hiding under the bed. She assumed the latter.

"It's okay." Claire said gently. "I'm not gonna hurt you." She bent lower until she could see under the bunk. It was darker than inside the vent, but Claire wasn't focused on what she couldn't see. It was what she could see that made her eyes widen in sudden fright.

A pair of large golden eyes glowed luminously back at her. Claire could see how Desmond had named her. Her pupils were mere slits, just like a cat's.

* * *

Peter's thoughts snapped away from the cold air continually flowing into his cell as the door clicked open. It had been two days since he had been thrown inside the freezing cold cell and the only sounds that had reached his ears in that time was the soft hum of the air-conditioning and Sylar's muted ramblings. He didn't know what his cellmate was muttering about, but he really didn't care. He didn't want to talk to Sylar; he didn't want to interact with him at all.

He rose and swung his legs over the side of his concrete slab as the cell door creaked open. Two guards entered the cell and positioned themselves beside the open door. Peter wasn't entirely sure if it were him or Sylar who received the darkest glare. He paid them little attention; he was focused on the woman who entered the cell after them. He had been waiting for Audrey to come back, after all there wasn't much else to do but wait.

"So, Peter." Audrey said as she came to a halt not far from where he was sitting. "It seems as though you were telling me the truth."

"You found Suresh?" Peter asked. He hadn't expected that, at least not after so little time.

"In a manner of speaking." Audrey's face was blank, but Peter didn't need his powers to tell that she was furious. "I sent a couple agents, fully armed and with itchy trigger fingers down into the subway after you sold out Suresh. We didn't hear from them for a while so I sent some others down to investigate, and you'll never guess what they found."

Peter didn't reply; he didn't even have to guess. He knew exactly what happened to those agents.

"They were torn apart!" Audrey's mask slipped and anger swept through her features. "I don't like losing good men, Peter. Now, do you mind telling me anything that may have slipped your mind?"

"I've told you everything I know. What more do you want?"

"You're not helping yourself." Audrey stated. "And you're not helping Claire."

"Do you just want me to tell you what you already know? You know what happened to Suresh just as well as I do." Peter could feel a new pair of eyes looking at him. All it took was a quick glance to his right to see Sylar staring at him curiously. He turned back to Audrey and met her annoyed glare. "You can threaten me all you want. I don't know anything else."

"Do you know just how many subway lines run under Manhattan? And I'm not talking about maintenance shafts or sewer pipes."

"I really couldn't say." Peter replied. He managed to keep an outer shell of calm, but his stomach was a bundle of unease. Audrey knew that he had held certain pieces of information back when she had last question. She shouldn't be pressing him. His silence was as much for her safety as it was for Suresh's.

"Neither could I, but somehow, they were found by something and killed. Now you tell me, how is it that my men were discovered?"

"I don't know." Peter said through clenched teeth.

"That's not good enough." Audrey turned around and began to walk back towards the cell door. "You're not going anywhere, Peter. And neither is Claire."

Peter leapt to his feet, anger flooded through his body, completely obliterating his nervousness. "I told you everything! I—" The words were barely out of his mouth when one of the guards crossed the room in an instant and struck Peter heavily across his mouth.

Peter stumbled back, rubbing his jaw tenderly where the guard had punched him. He shot the guard a furious look. The guard only smirked and massaged his knuckles.

Audrey glanced back at Peter as she exited the cell, gesturing for the guards to follow. She still looked angry, and more than a little bit frustrated.

Peter sighed and sat back down as the cell door clicked shut, leaving him alone in the chilly room with Sylar.

"Expecting your ticket out of here?" Sylar asked. "They promise and promise but they never hold true."

"Leave me alone." Peter replied. It lacked heart, he knew it, and it was obvious to him that Sylar knew it too.

"So, Mohinder's creeping around in the subway, probably with Molly with him, I assume?" Peter didn't answer, hoping his silence would discourage Sylar from talking. It didn't work. "I don't know why Omicron is even bothering; I doubt even an entire squadron would be enough to track him down. It's probably pride, I guess. They don't like it when someone beats them at their own game."

Peter looked at Sylar, his curiosity at Sylar's words overpowering his hatred of the man. "What do you mean?"

"You don't know?" Sylar laughed dryly. "Mohinder was in this very facility about a year and a half back. He tried to bargain with Omicron's president to release Molly Walker. And from what I hear about the president, he doesn't like it when normal people sympathise with people like _us._" He put an emphasis on the last word. Peter noticed and furrowed his eyebrows. He and Sylar were _not_ the same.

"What happened?"

"Omicron took the good doctor and locked him away. Then six months later I hear that Mohinder and Molly Walker had escaped through the vents."

Peter glanced up, looking towards the gleaming grate above his head. The cylinder pipe connected to the grate was large, more than big enough to fit through. Cold air blew through that shaft. It was one of the subtle tortures that Omicron was forcing them to go through, and the flow never stopped.

"I think we can get through there." Peter said, standing up and pointing at the vent.

"Yeah, you'd think." Sylar replied. "If you go left, you get blocked by the fan. It spins too fast. If you go right, you get stuck at the bottom of an elevator shaft."

'You've tried this before?" Peter asked as he stood on top of his crude bed. The stream of cold air stirred his hair as he reached up and touched the bottom of the vent. The pipe ran down the length of the cell, disappearing through the walls.

"Unsuccessfully," Sylar said. "There's no use. The sooner you realise that, the better off you'll be."

"What happened to you, Sylar?" Peter said bluntly as he tested the grate. It groaned, but refused to move. "Since when have you ever given up?"

"You have no idea what I've been through here, Peter!" Sylar said angrily. "They only just stopped dragging me out of this cell a month before you got here!"

Peter glanced over his shoulder, but said nothing. It was true; Peter couldn't even imagine what had happened to Sylar. He applied more force the grate, standing on his toes and pushed as hard as he could without losing balance. The grate creaked and shifted, falling into the vent with a loud echoing bang.

"Omicron really doesn't care, do they?" Peter asked, more to himself than to Sylar.

"They never have." Sylar answered. "Not in this prison. They don't bother to screw the vents closed again after maintenance. Not that it matters. We're stuck down here, Peter."

Peter gripped the bottom of the open vent and hauled himself up. His muscles burned from the effort as he managed to pull his upper body inside the vent. The roar of the fan assaulted his ears and his hair whipped about his head. He could faintly make out the spinning blades to his left. They were moving too fast. Sylar was right; there was no way anyone could make it through that way.

He dragged his legs into the vent and crawled in the opposite direction of the fan. He didn't have far to crawl before the vent ended, blocked by another grate. Peter pushed against it and it came away easily – a lot easier than the first one.

Peter eased himself through the opening and stood up. Disappointment filled him as he gazed around the elevator shaft.

Ledges and cables decorated the concrete walls of the shaft. A series of thick cables hung down the middle of the shaft. Peter looked up and stared at the thin opening that the cables passed through. Above that, he assumed, was the bottom of the elevator. He was stuck, there was no way out.

"See what I mean?"

Peter whirled around and glared at Sylar as he crawled out of the vent. He hadn't heard his cellmate follow him through, the fan made too much noise.

Sylar stood up and walked towards the cables, running his hand down one of them. "We're both stuck here, Peter. There's nothing you can do."


	6. Chapter 6: The Vents, Part Two

"_Rebellion has always been in the nature of mankind. When oppressed, someone can only do one of two things: submit, or resist. It usually starts as something small, a spoken word that usually would have gone unspoken, leaping with no concern for your own wellbeing to the defence of another. It doesn't take long for those little things to escalate into a punch, a full-blown assault, maybe even a murder; something that makes your position known to others. Hatred is a powerful seed."_

---

"We're both stuck here, Peter. There's nothing you can do."

Peter spared a second to shoot an annoyed glare at Sylar, before continuing to walk around the elevator shaft. Sylar hadn't been lying when he told Peter they were trapped, but Peter had never doubted his word in the first place. He just wanted to see it with his own eyes. If Sylar had managed to find a way out of this place, he would have taken it.

His eyes passed over the thick cables that connected to the elevator's pulley system. It wouldn't be a problem to climb up them, but such an effort would only be in vain, there was no way he could fit through the hole that led to the actual elevator shaft. This place here was probably just for maintenance….

Peter quickly glanced up and scanned the ceiling. This was the elevator's maintenance shaft! There had to be a way to get into the actual shaft.

"What are you doing?" Sylar asked. He sounded frustrated, and not at all very eager.

"This is a maintenance shaft, Sylar." Peter replied. "If the pulley system gets damaged, they have to get in here somehow." A slow grin spread across his face as he lifted a finger and pointed at a narrow yellow trapdoor near the edge of the shaft's roof. "There." It was far above his head, there was no way to reach it without climbing up on something.

He felt Sylar move to stand beside him. "Yeah, only there's one small problem, Peter." Sylar said sardonically. "How are we meant to reach that?"

Peter ignored Sylar's comment and walked forward until he stood directly under the trapdoor. "There should be ladder here. It's standard procedure."

"Procedure hasn't exactly been one of Omicron's values, if you hadn't noticed."

"Shut up. I'm trying to think." Peter replied absently.

"Great. Now I'm _really_ reassured."

Peter shot Sylar a dangerous look before proceeding to look around for something to stand on. Sylar was really pissing him off. He didn't know what had been done to the serial-killer here, but whatever it was; it had been enough to make him give up. Peter gritted his teeth. He wouldn't stop fighting. He couldn't.

He stopped searching and groaned inwardly. He glanced at Sylar and sighed in frustration. He would give anything not to have to ask this. "You've gotta give me a boost." Peter asked reluctantly.

Sylar looked at him in surprise, then threw back his head and laughed. "You really want to get out of this place, don't you? You must be squirming, having to ask me for help."

"Do you want to get out of this place or not? I thought you would be leaping at the chance to get free." Peter smiled and let a derisive note enter his voice. "You've got the chance to stop being Omicron's guinea pig and you don't even want to take the chance. You're getting soft!"

Sylar stepped towards him, his face contorting with anger. For a moment, Peter thought that he was going to get punched again. "Fine, but you're not standing on my shoulders."

Peter's grin widened briefly as Sylar scowled at him. "Okay."

Sylar rolled his eyes and bent down slightly, holding his hands together directly under the trapdoor. Peter stepped forward and placed his left foot on Sylar's outstretched hands. He was surprised that Sylar was helping, before Omicron started this war, Sylar was more likely to scalp Peter than help him. He was hiding it well, but Peter knew that Sylar was border-lining on outright desperation.

"On three, alright?" Peter said as he reached out with his left hand and placed his palm flat against the wall. This would be a lot easier if he could just stand on Sylar's shoulders.

Sylar grunted in confirmation. "Let's just get this over with!"

Peter nodded. "Okay. One. Two—" he abruptly cut off as Sylar pushed his foot up, nearly throwing him completely off balance. He was shaky as it was. "What the hell was that!?" he shouted angrily down at Sylar. "I said on _three_, not whenever you felt like it!"

Sylar smirked up at him. "Try to balance next time, Peter. I can't do this all day."

"Bastard!" Peter grumbled as he steadied himself with his left hand and reached towards the trapdoor with his right. It was still a little out of reach. "A little higher." Peter called down.

"Hurry up and open the door!" Sylar shouted as he complied. His voice sounded strange, distorted by the effort required to push Peter up. "You're not exactly light!"

"It's all muscle." Peter muttered under his breath as he reached up with his right hand and grabbed the trapdoor's metal handle. Peter frowned as he pushed up on the trapdoor. They usually pulled open from the other side, but this one wasn't budging. He pulled down on the handle, grinning with satisfaction as the trapdoor creaked open. He was just thankful that this didn't have a lock on it otherwise Peter was sure that Sylar would drop him then and there.

A sharp sliding sound captured Peter's attention as he pulled the trapdoor open even further. It sounded like metal, he knew that, but what was it? Suddenly something fell through the opening, startling Peter and throwing him completely off balance. He toppled back, gasping reflexively as he struck the hard ground with a heavy thud.

He blinked and rubbed the back of his head tenderly as he cautiously raised himself off the ground. It was going to bruise; yet another one to add to his growing collection of injuries.

Peter noticed Sylar was limping as he managed to shake away the sudden blurriness that entered his eyes. He turned his attention back to the trapdoor and noticed a rusted steel ladder hanging down from the opening. It hung all the way down to the ground and suddenly the source of Sylar's limp became clear.

He stood up and glanced at Sylar, who was muttering choice swear-words under his breath. Peter shook his head and ignored Sylar as he approached the ladder and tested the bottom rung with his foot. "It's stable." He said, more to himself than to Sylar. He began to climb, all too away of the steady stream of air flowing through the opening. He didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before.

It didn't take long before Peter was pulling himself through the open trapdoor and was staring around the elevator shaft. The elevator was high above him; he'd have plenty of warning before the elevator began moving down. Peter pulled his legs from out of the trapdoor and called back down to Sylar, "You coming?" he put a hint of a challenge into his voice. Just because they were working together, didn't mean they were about to become friends.

Sylar's face peered up at him; he had obviously picked up on the challenge hidden in Peter's voice.

Peter looked away from the opening and stood up. Vents similar to the one he had first crawled through were positioned orderly up and down the shaft; one above each door, seemingly hanging in space.

"We don't need to go up." Sylar said as he reached the top of the ladder and pulled himself through the opening. "There are research laboratories are on the third and fourth floors, but the biggest one is on this floor. The rest are all cells."

"How do you know that?"

"I've been here for _two_ years." Sylar said through gritted teeth; it was all he needed to say. "We need our powers back. They've got a drug that reverses the effects of the injections. And then…." Sylar grinned.

"And then what." He knew what Sylar was going to say, but he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"I'm going to blow this place apart."

"Great. You mind waiting to do that until I find Elle and Claire and get them out first?"

Sylar didn't reply; he just looked at Peter with a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down Peter's spine. Sylar wouldn't take his chances. The moment he got his abilities back, no one was going to stop his from taking his revenge. Peter knew it, and he wasn't even sure if he could stop him. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to.

"How did they get you?" Peter asked as he watched Sylar pace the shaft. The elevator had started moving, but stopped again way above their heads.

"'Get me'?" Sylar asked. He didn't pause in his movements. "It was a couple of weeks after I killed that idiot Flint. I didn't know how they found me, at least until I heard that they had Molly Walker – should have taken care of her when I had the chance."

"Why didn't you?" Peter asked. Sylar was pushing at another vent, before spinning slightly and closing his eyes. He was trying to figure out which way the research lab was, Peter knew that much.

"She was a child, Peter, forgive me for not being completely heartless. But then Hanson and Parkman came and I didn't get another chance." Sylar nodded to himself and began fiddling with the vent's cover, grunting in satisfaction as it fell away from the vent with a heavy thud. He clambered into the vent, quickly disappearing from view.

Peter followed him, climbing into the vent and crawling after Sylar on his belly. "They attacked us on Halloween; stormed through my house. Elle was there, she tried to fight them off, but they did something to her. She wouldn't wake up."

"How do you know it was them who did it to her?" Sylar asked. His tone told Peter he didn't care, but Peter ignored it. He needed to talk.

"Who else could it have been?"

"There are people out there who do things like that – make people sleep. I ran into one not long before I… _ran_…into Flint. It's the only reason why I don't have that particularly useful ability."

"You let someone get the best of you?" Peter mocked. He managed to keep it out of his voice, but anger was filling his body. Could someone have really done that to Elle? Her sleep wasn't normal. It couldn't be explained.

Sylar stopped suddenly and glared at Peter over his shoulder. "I didn't _let_ him do it. What about you? Did you_ let_ Elle get injured? Did you _let_ Omicron bring you here? Are you going to _let_ Claire be treated like a lab-rat? I promise the things they did to me aren't going to compare to the things they'll do to her!"

Sylar continued moving. Peter hesitated before following. He was getting sick of Sylar. His words were cutting raw. The vent suddenly turned and carried on in another direction. It was an awkward fit. "Nothing's going to happen to Claire."

"You keep telling yourself that. Distract yourself from the truth." Sylar hesitated as the vent split into two directions.

"Do you have any idea where you're going?" Peter asked. The steady hum of a fan filled his ears. Whichever way the sound was coming from, that way was effectively blocked.

"I have a better idea than you do." Sylar retorted. He waited a few more seconds before turning right.

Peter smirked and continued after him. It wasn't much longer until the sound of the fan faded and the soft buzz of voices and beeps of machines echoed lightly through the vent. Both Peter and Sylar unconsciously slowed as the sounds grew louder. Ahead of Sylar, Peter could see a stream of light being filtered through a grate.

Sylar quickly crossed over the grate and somehow managed to twist himself until he was facing Peter from across the grate. Peter moved closer until he could see out through one of the narrow slits. Sylar had led him to the right place.

The research laboratory was exactly what Peter imagined it to be. Cold, metallic, row after row of machines were placed symmetrically around the large room. There wasn't a single bed in the laboratory, only scientists and their experiments.

"I thought you said they tested people here." Peter hissed at Sylar.

"Not here, not unless it's something big; the prisoners are usually taken to the other labs. It's closer to the cells. Less work for the guards."

Peter nodded, but his heart sank in disappointment. Elle wasn't here.

Suddenly Sylar raised himself higher and peered intently through the grate. Peter followed his cellmate's gaze and his eyes widened in surprise. A man was walking by the lines of machines, followed closely by a scientist clutching a clipboard. Peter ignored the scientist and glared at the man. It was _him,_ Lance Cain, the president of Omicron himself.

Peter's glare was so intense he was surprised that Cain couldn't feel it. Hatred filled his body as he watched Cain adjust his suit's cuffs and glance at the scientist. Sylar may have been the one who exposed the specials for what they were, but it was Cain who declared war.

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but Sylar quickly clamped his hand over Peter's mouth, cutting him off. Peter glared at him briefly before turning his attention back to Cain.

"How are our latest guests fairing?" Cain was asking the scientist. "The ones our friends captured in Reed Street?"

"…The guard's reports state that they haven't had any problems out of the girl, Claire Bennet." The scientist said nervously. Cain was a dominating and definitely intimidating presence. "She has a sharp tongue. Doyle seems to have taken an interest in her."

Cain rolled his eyes. "Doyle takes an interest in anyone who has blonde hair and resists him. Make sure you get Stark to keep an eye on his advances towards the girl. The FBI has taken a special interest in her and her friends. The last thing we need is them poking their noses where they don't belong. I do _not_ want another Meredith Gordon."

The scientist nodded and scribbled something down on his clipboard. Peter felt rage burn hot and fresh. If that Doyle even _touched_ his niece, he was going to tear him apart!

As for Petrelli…" the scientist continued. "The guards say he's been a lot more vocal than his niece. He and his cellmate have assaulted each other. The guards have had to break up a fight already."

"Is that a fact?" Cain chuckled. "Just one fight? I expected more. When you put two lion's in a cage, there's bound to be conflict."

The scientist chuckled weakly, more to seem respectful than from actual amusement. "Yes… yes. Petrelli has also had several visits from FBI Agent Audrey Hanson. The latest one didn't last long."

The grin all but vanished from Cain's face as he stared at the scientist. "Hanson? Damn it, that persistent bitch, first Sylar and now Petrelli. After we finish here send a few guards down to find out what Petrelli's keeping from the FBI. If they want information, we need it too."

The scientist made another note. "There isn't much to report about the other girl, Miss Bishop. She hasn't woken up, we've pumped her full of anti-sedatives, shocked her, but still she won't wake. We're lucky she hasn't died yet, with all the things we've done...."

"I'll decide what we'll do about Miss Bishop later. She killed a lot of good men when she started that fire." Cain shook his head. "What about their abilities, have we at least confirmed those?"

"Yes, we have." The scientist examined his clipboard once again. "We have several reports from the survivors of the Halloween raid that Miss Bishop can generate electricity, and we already know what Petrelli can do, but if he's anything like Sylar, we won't find out any more than that.

"A brief analysis of Claire Bennet has confirmed that she has the ability to regenerate from her injuries. We have reports that she was struck frequently on the journey here, but she doesn't even have a scratch. Spontaneous Regeneration; we've never come across anyone with her ability before. Her potential is virtually limitless!" The scientist's voice picked up in his excitement. "The things we can learn from her. We don't have to worry about pushing too far or too hard."

"Make sure you keep your curiosity on a tight leash. The FBI is keeping an eye on these three. If they find out what we're doing here, there will be hell to pay, do you understand?"

The scientist nodded quickly. 'Of course, sir."

"Good. Now run along and tell the guards to pay a visit to Petrelli. I want another report by sundown."

The scientist nodded again and all but dashed away. Peter glanced up at Sylar. "We've got to get back. We can't break in there now, not during the day. The guards will be on us before we hit the ground. He backed away, sliding awkwardly back down the vent. Sylar wasn't moving. "Sylar!" Peter hissed furiously.

Sylar looked at him and began to follow. The way going back seemed a lot longer than when they went in. Maybe it was because of the fact that they didn't say a word. Peter could feel his heart beat rapidly and adrenaline course through his body. If the guards got to their cell before they did, there would be no hope of escape. Omicron underestimated them constantly, but they weren't stupid.

Peter managed to scramble awkwardly out of the vent, stumbling slightly as his feet hit the ground. Dust covered his clothing; he barely took a moment to beat his hands across his torso in an attempt to dislodge it.

He paused a moment to make sure that Sylar was almost out of the vent as he quickly gripped the ladder and slid down its frame. Childish games played with Elle had taught him that trick. He couldn't even remember how long ago that was.

He quickly cross the maintenance shaft and was about to enter the vent when Sylar finally made his way down the ladder. The serial killer paused there, staring around the maintenance shaft thoughtfully.

"What the hell are you doing?" Peter demanded.

"They expect us to just sit in that cell and play by their rules." Sylar said to himself. It must have been to himself. "Don't worry, Peter. We have plenty of time." Sylar walked towards the pulley system attached to the exact centre of the shaft and examined it carefully. "I wonder what they'll do when we change the rules. My father always used to say, 'it's much easier to destroy, than to repair.'" He suddenly bent down and thrust his hands into the pulley device. The sound of creaking metal sounded for a few seconds and then an almighty snap echoed through the shaft as one of the thick cords leading up through the shaft and into the elevator came free.

Peter stared at Sylar in astonishment. Sylar was grinning as the shaft shook slightly. Was he insane!?

"I am not going to follow their orders anymore. They expect me to play quietly…." Sylar laughed, it sounded different, savage. 'We'll I'm not going to!"

Peter just stared at him as he crossed back across the shaft and peered through the open trapdoor. The elevator was hanging unstably on an angle and swayed precariously. It looked like it could suddenly fall at the slightest pressure. Frightened screams echoed through the shaft. They must be terrified.

Peter looked back at Sylar, his mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Sylar grinned at him as he climbed into the vent leading back to their cell. He opened his mouth and spoke, succeeding where Peter had failed. "I aim to misbehave!"

* * *

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me this far. I don't really like this chapter. I had quite a lot of trouble with it. I hope it wasn't too bad. Anyway I'm completely hating Sylar at the moment, any guesses as to why? I'm sure a lot of people probably agree with me.

And a big thank you to all of my reviewers!


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